The Cat in the Moon.

This morning, I saw this article on the internet. It was labeled “This is Important,” and since everything on the internet is true, I figured it must be important so I better open it.

Sure enough, it was very important. You can (and should) read it for yourself here, however I’ll give you a quick summary in the meantime.

Grab a toilet paper tube. Take a selfie with it. You’ll look like the moon.

Now this is the best thing I’ve heard in weeks! I had to give it a try myself right away, so up to the bathroom I went, where there was thankfully a roll of toilet paper that was almost empty! I took the now empty paper tube, and tried to take a selfie.

It looked completely ridiculous and it was not living up to the standard the article set. I put down the paper tube, slightly dejected about my failure to achieve the American Dream, when Wednesday walked in, and it hit me: I’ll make the cats look like the moon instead!

I snatched up the tube and my phone, and before she knew what happened, I successfully turned Wednesday into the moon.

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The cat in the moon is smiling.

She seemed pleased, almost as if she aspired to be the moon her whole life. It took one shot to capture this fine work of feline art.

Berlioz on the other hand….

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First attempt.

He was not having it. It took at least 10 takes, and none of them were worthy of the heavenly body we call “moon.”

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Fourth or Fifth attempt (is he eating something here?)

I finally got one that was sort of ok….

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Eighth or Ninth attempt. He’s sticking his tongue out at me now.

I almost gave up, but tried one last time….

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Jupiter has finally aligned with Mars.

This will have to do. At least his eyes are open and his mouth is closed. For once. ;D

 

Happy Mew Year!

Wednesday and Berlioz just want to wish everyone a Happy “Mew” Year! They’re both super pumped for 2019, and all the treats, catnip, naps, fetching, and hissing it will bring.

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Wednesday says, “Happy Mew Year!”

 

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Berlioz says, “Happy Mew Year!”

Truthfully, they were just begging for their breakfast, as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. :-/

 

Hey, Jealousy.

Wednesday does not like to be picked up nearly as much as Berlioz, so when she decides she actually wants to be held, we drop everything and scoop her up immediately, making it a big celebration, worthy of the princess she is.

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All hail Princess Wednesday, ruler of the sofa.

Berlioz always wants attention no matter what, so it’s not such a big deal when we pick him up. But trust me, he gets plenty of affection, probably more than his share – he makes darn sure of that.

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You cannot make this bed until you pet me again.

Anyway, one day last week, Wednesday wanted to be held, so I jumped at the opportunity and picked her up. She was relaxed and purring, and we were having a nice quiet moment of quality time, when out of nowhere, Berlioz jumps up in a fit of jealousy, claws out in full force, and scratches me, down both sides of my stomach. I screamed, Wednesday freaked out and jumped away, and Berlioz stood there, staring, knowing full well what he had done. I was also bleeding, fyi.

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Scarred, physically and mentally.

It was a traumatic experience for all of us, except Berlioz of course, who’s jealous plan was ultimately victorious, in his eyes.

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Excellent….

Halloween Cats.

I’ve been dying for Halloween to arrive, so I could put the cats in their respective Halloween costumes (Wednesday – unicorn, Berlioz – bat). I’ve had the costumes planned out for months, and I knew this was going to be the best thing ever and they were going to love it, right?

RIGHT??

Because what cat doesn’t love getting shoved into a costume while it’s owners huddle around it, giggling and snapping photos?

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my pretty unicorn

 

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my adorable bat

They look thrilled and not at all like we snuck up on them while they were sleeping and forced the costumes on while they remained in a half-daze. Once they caught on, their reactions varied. Berlioz thought it was no big deal, and laid back down to go to sleep like nothing happened.

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this ain’t so bad.

Wednesday, on the other hand….

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i will destroy you for this.

At the end of the day, I got my cats into the costumes and got a couple of photos to preserve the memories, which was really all I ever wanted.

I’m pretty sure they’ve already forgotten about the entire thing.

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forgiven and forgotten.

Or….maybe not….

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plotting revenge.

I’m Only Sleeping.

Today I was off, and I was thinking about my day and what I was going to do. I had a list of things to get done (I actually did most of them!), and I was working my way through the list, when I sat down on the couch for a few minutes. Berlioz jumped up behind me and promptly went to sleep.

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He looks so well behaved when he’s sleeping.

I paused for a few extra minutes to sit with him, but then I had to get up and do other things, like run 8 miles. When I returned from running, I walked into the bedroom, and stumbled upon this:

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Sleeping ball of fur.

I showered and changed in preparation for my next errand, and walked downstairs, only to be greeted by this strangely familiar sight:

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wait…again??

I realized that I’m doing it totally wrong. These guys have the life right here. They’ve got it all figured out. Or so I thought.

I went back upstairs to put away some laundry, and Wednesday was still laying there in the same spot, doing the same thing (that would be sleeping). This time, Berlioz followed me up. He jumped on the bed, and for a split second, I thought he was going to lay down next to her and go to sleep for the third time, but alas, it went a little more like this:

I guess all that sleeping has its benefits – one can unleash those bad-ass wrestling moves at any time and without warning. 13+ hours of sleeping a day sure hones those cat-like reflexes.

The Breakfast Song.

I don’t know about you, but I often catch myself singing to my cats. It’s usually real songs that I change the words to the cats’ names or whatever activity they’re currently engaging in. Most of these songs I would never repeat outside of closed doors, as they are really really really dumb and make no sense.

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Because I’m still in love with mew
I want to see you meow again
Because I’m still in love with mew
On this kitty moon.

Besides my feline-filled tribute to Neil Young, there is one song that I find myself singing to the #catsquad every morning at breakfast time while I feed them.

Sung to the tune of Frère Jacques:

Who wants breakfast, who wants breakfast
Kitties do, kitties do
Everyone wants breakfast, everyone wants breakfast
Mew mew mew, mew mew mew….

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It’s true though – everyone does want breakfast. And now this song will also be stuck in your head for the rest of the day, just like it is in mine. You’re welcome.

 

Cats in Odd Places.

Sometimes, I find the cats in the most bizarre spots. I don’t know why suddenly they decide to go into this spot which they’ve never been in before, but I guess something about it is suddenly appealing. For example:

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Cat in a nightstand.

Why on earth Wednesday decided the nightstand was suddenly exactly where she needed to sit is one of life’s unsolved mysteries.

Here’s another:

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Cat in a drawer.

I guess I can see the appeal of sitting on a pile of soft clothes in a drawer. But there are plenty of other soft surfaces for her to sit on.

Here’s another odd one:

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Cat hiding (sort of).

It’s  not so much that he’s in a odd spot, it’s that he seems to think he’s hiding there.

This was a first:

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Cat in the tub.

Cat life can be so  hard, but it’s nothing a bath can’t fix.

But just when you think you’re safe:

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Cat behind the curtain.

Surprise! There’s Berlioz, totally creepin’.

And sometimes, they even fall asleep there:

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Cat on a bookshelf.

That can’t be comfortable. But cats will be cats. And they always keep you on your toes. And sometimes they even bite those toes. But we love them anyway.

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We didn’t do it. Whatever it was.

What comes up, must go down…again.

I debated on whether or not to share this story, because it’s kind of gross. But cats can be kind of gross at times. This was one of those times.

Berlioz is obsessed with food, as I may have mentioned once or twice. Wednesday, on the other hand, eats slow and enjoys every bite. Of course she begs for food, like every other cat, but once the food is placed in front of her, she takes her time, savoring the meal, and used to even walk away and come back. She can’t do that anymore, as Berlioz will make a bee-line to her dish the second the she steps away. He often tries to actually even eat her meal while she is still eating it, shoving his face in front of hers. We do our best to play “food police” and stand guard in between them during meal times, grabbing Berlioz mid-run and thwarting any attempt at food thievery.

So, one morning, as usual, the #mewcrew was begging for breakfast.

I fed them as usual, giving them each their equal share of wet food and dry food. And as usual, Berlioz finished first, and before I had a chance, sprinted to Wednesday’s dish, shoved her out of the way and started eating her breakfast. I ran over and pulled him away, and put him back in front of his own dish. I stood guard until Wednesday (unusually quickly) finished her meal, and then they both left the kitchen. I continued to get ready for work, packed up, and went upstairs to kiss my husband goodbye. I came back down, and heard that sound – the sound that every cat owner dreads – the sounds of a cat about to puke. The problem was there were no cats in sight. I put down my purse and keys and began frantically searching for the source, in a vain attempt to move the almost-puker to the kitchen where the results could be more easily cleaned up. Well I followed the sounds as best as I could, but it sounded like they were coming from the TV which was weird, because it was off. I walked over, and happened to peer behind it, and there she was, but it was too late – Wednesday had puked all over the back of the entertainment center.

There was no way I was going to be able to get back there and clean this all up AND still make it to work on time, so I ran back upstairs and yelled to my husband that Wednesday just barfed behind the TV and he would have to clean it up. He groggily said, “ok” and I went back downstairs to leave.

But it gets worse.

I picked  up my bags, and went to bid the cats farewell, when I found Berlioz in the very same spot behind the entertainment center where Wednesday just was, but the pile of puke had vanished. Yes, exactly what you think happened is what happened – he ate it.

But it gets worse.

He ran out the other side of the entertainment center, and I went over to say goodbye and there was puke ON HIS FACE, and it wasn’t his own puke. And he looked at me expecting me to pet him.

I left before I puked myself, and texted my husband from the car that there was nothing he would need to clean up, as Berlioz had it all under control.

Cats in Wine Boxes.

I love wooden wine boxes. Whenever I find a cool one, I bring it home. I don’t always have an immediate use for them, so sometimes there are small stacks of them around the house. The cats love them equally as much as I do. Whenever I put one down, they jump in, so when I got my hands on a really cool one that formerly housed Opus One, I decided to convert into a high class bed for my fancy felines.

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I also scored a really dainty Jadot box, that is the perfect size for a kitten. I brought it home, put it down, but the kitten was no where to be found. Instead, this happened.

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Again.

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And again.

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Finally, she allowed him entry into the box.

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But not for long….

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Big sister is watching you. And that box, just like all the other boxes, is hers, and hers alone.

 

We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. ― George Orwell, 1984

Wednesday, meet Berlioz.

Wednesday was here first.

And she won’t let anyone ever forget this. Especially Berlioz.

Wednesday was about 5 when Berlioz arrived on the scene, a mere 3 month old kitten.

Wednesday had been an only child for 2 years. She ran this place – the beds were all hers (including ours). The laps were all hers. The food was all hers. She was fine with this. Except that she often attacked her own tail and seemed to have some anxiety. And she bit us. All the time. But she stayed away from the plants, didn’t try to eat any people food, and only destroyed one particular spot on the couch. Not too shabby, for an odd-eyed cat from the streets of Philadelphia.

But that all changed in July of 2018. I was anxious to introduce Berlioz to her. He was upbeat, had no fear, and loved to be near people and other cats. This was not Wednesday. It’s not that she’s unfriendly – she enjoys being in a room where people are and she is not afraid. She’s just kind of aloof. She likes her space, and is going to let you know when she’s had enough of you being in it. Berlioz had no concept of this, and I knew this would be trouble. But I hoped his extroverted-ness and naiveté would rub off on her, and that her laid back persona and chill attitude would rub off on him, to form one perfect Uber-Cat.

Nope.

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Haters gonna hate.

It was certainly not love at first site. Well, that’s not entirely true. For Berlioz, it was love at first site. For Wednesday, it was more like hate. For about a week, it was absolute torture. She hissed. She growled. She hid. But he kept coming back like nothing happened. He tried to love her. He tried to play with her. He thought they were best friends. I don’t know if she got tired of fighting, or actually found his persistence charming – but one day, without warning, she had a change of heart.

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Acceptance.

And best friends they became.

A cat has absolute emotional honesty. Human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.

— Ernest Hemmingway